


Will You Still Kiss Me the Same When You Taste My Victim’s Blood?

by blarfshnorgull



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, F/M, I’ve been in so many vampire fandoms idk what qualifies as graphic violence anymore, M/M, Moderate Description of Violence, Multi, bloodlust but not in a fun way, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27369691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarfshnorgull/pseuds/blarfshnorgull
Summary: A love between predator and prey can only end in one way.—Written for both fe3h polyship week day 4: loneliness, and hubernie halloweek day 7: bad end
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra
Kudos: 9
Collections: FE3H Polyship Week





	Will You Still Kiss Me the Same When You Taste My Victim’s Blood?

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags y’all, it’s depressing.
> 
> Also unbeta’d bc my betas were busy and I had a schedule to stick to. Moment of silence for when they see the lack of commas 😔

Ferdinand’s blood stains the carpet. The brilliant pool of scarlet seeps into fabric beneath him.

His throat is ripped open. Horrific agony is splayed across his features, capturing the misery of his final moments. His hands clutch uselessly and the gaping wound that once was his throat.

Hubert looms over him, a phantom enshrouded by the shadows. Ferdinand’s blood is smeared across his face, descending further down the column of his throat, and staining his shirt with a beautiful rose of crimson.

Bernadetta had always feared this day, ever since they brought Hubert into their lives three years ago. She knew what he was, and without fail she would feel a cold creeping sensation of fear around her husband's friend. She tried to convince herself that it was all in her head, after all, she had never seen him behave like the monsters in stories.

Hubert tried to be kind to her. Always maintaining a distance, always trying to make himself more approachable for her sake. She always appreciated the gesture, even if his laugh caused a thundering in her heart unlike any other.

And then somewhere along the line, her heart would skip a beat instead of fluttering with anxiety. Their distant and stilted conversations turned into lingering touches and shy smiles. His friendship turned into a promise of something more between the three of them. Something new and exciting, something Bernadetta didn’t meet with fear, but giddiness.

But then one day he bore his fangs at them, and reality came crashing down on them.

Bernadetta still remembers the drowning wave of hysteria, the torrent of betrayal, that engulfed her when she realized the monster that Hubert actually was. A beast craving human blood, a demon that rends humans limb from limb with his bare hands.

He hadn’t intended to reveal the depth of his monstrous nature to her, but Ferdinand already knew. Her husband tried to ease her sobs, tried to hold her and comfort her while whispering apology after apology. He tried so hard to explain his understanding of Hubert, tried so hard to justify keeping his secret. None of it helped. Every word sent Bernadetta further on the edge of terror.

When that night was over, and the sun shielded her from Hubert, Ferdinand confessed all that he knew of the hunger that consumed their lover, all that he and Hubert shielded her from. He spent hours upon hours reassuring her that he was still the same man they loved before. 

When she asked about the blood, he smiled and told her that he and Hubert had an arrangement. She trusted him against her better judgement.

She let herself believe Ferdinand smiles and Hubert’s apologies. She wanted to go back to a time where she could look at the man she and her husband loved without doubt so desperately that she accepted a pleasant lie.

It was a foolish decision made for only a fleeting moment of happiness.

She ignored every warning. Every misplaced fleck of blood, every self satisfied grin that split too wide, every night he became more energetic — more _amorous_ — she chose to ignore.

She never even asked him if he killed before accepting his apology. 

She should have known better.

Now her husband lies dead by the hands of their lover. Terror paralyzes her, like a rabbit trapped in a snare, she can’t move in the face of her own death. She’s helpless to watch Hubert linger over his kill while her heart threatens to burst from her chest.

But he can hear her heartbeat. He’s told her as much.

Hubert cranes his head in her direction, shadows coalescing around him like a nightmare come to life. He turns his face slowly, deliberately, like a hunter taunting his quarry. His eyes narrow and he gives a sickening grin, made all the worse with Ferdinand’s blood framing it.

Bernadetta’s heart drops and her leg takes a step back, unbidden.

Hubert’s grin turns manic and all she can see is pure unadulterated _hunger_.

He strikes, inhumanly fast. Bernadetta barely registers his movements before she feels the weight of him forcing her to the ground. Her hand desperately claws out for something, _anything_ to save her, and finds purchase on a table leg.

She tightens her grip, her knuckles turning white. It’s useless but it’s all she has.

Hubert pins her down, a beast relishing in its kill. He grabs her hand, hard enough to break let alone bruise, and wrenches it free from her grasp on the table. The leg splinters from the force, and it clatters just out of her sight.

His hands trap her own, and his face betrays nothing of the love he held for Bernadetta or Ferdinand once upon a time. Bernadetta forces her eyes shut, forces herself to think of anything but what’s happening to her.

All she can think of is the force of Hubert’s hands on her own. Hands he used to lovingly dress Bernadetta. Hands he used to brush back Ferdinand’s hair. Hands he used to pen them heartfelt letters when his words failed him.

Hands that killed.

Bernadetta feels his breath press to the column of her throat. The still damp press of Ferdinand’s blood on Hubert’s lips startles a whimper out of her and—

His grips slackens. 

And then it’s gone.

Bernadetta opens her eyes, disbelief guiding her actions. 

Hubert’s eyes were no longer narrowed like that of a predator eager for their next prey, but blown wide with horrifying clarity. His shaking hand slowly presses against his bloodstained mouth. His expression breaks at the contact, and his breathing turns ragged.

He whips his head in the direction of Ferdinand’s corpse, and Bernadetta sees the despair flood him.

“ _No…_ ” His single broken whisper hangs heavy in the air, the only word spoken between them.

He turns his gaze back to Bernadetta, sorrow and pain engulfing him, but all she can see are eyes that looked at her with the intent to kill.

Panic grips her heart. Before she realizes what she’s doing, Bernadetta flails her arm in the direction of the lost table leg. She seizes it in a death grip and forces the splintered edge into Hubert’s chest, piercing his heart.

Hubert’s pained expression morphs into an entirely new twist of agony, and he crumples into ash.

Only shaking in his remains does Bernadetta understand that she’s well and truly alone now.

A desperate sob finally breaks free, and all Bernadetta can do is cry out into the empty night.

**Author's Note:**

> This originally wasn’t going to be this depressing, but here we are.


End file.
